Page:A Series of Plays on the Passions Volume 1.pdf/351

I would arrest and cry, hold! hold! have mercy:
But when the man most adverse to my nature;
Who e'en from childhood hath, with rude malevolence,
Withheld the fair respect all paid beside,
Turning my very praise into derision;
Who galls and presses me where'er I go,
Would claim the gen'rous feelings of my heart,
Nature herself doth lift her voice aloud,
And cries, it is impossible.

Jane. (Shaking her head.)—Ah Monfort, Monfort!

De Mon. I can forgive th' envenom'd reptile's sting,
But hate his loathsome self.

Jane. And canst thou do no more for love of heaven?

De Mon. Alas! I cannot now so school my mind
As holy men have taught, nor search it truly:
But this, my Jane, I'll do for love of thee;
And more it is than crowns could win me to,
Or any power but thine. I'll see the man.
Th' indignant risings of abhorrent nature;
The stern contraction of my scowling brows,
That, like the plant, whose closing leaves do shrink
At hostile touch, still knit at his approach;
The crooked curving lip, by instinct taught,
In imitation of disgustful things,
To pout and swell, I strictly will repress;
And meet him with a tamed countenance,